


Granted

by druxykexy



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Sex Pollen, Virgin Oswald, bottom Oswald, progressively less dark as it goes along, set at the end of episode 2x22, supposed to be PWP but feels bled out all over the place, without actual pollen but same trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8492332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy/pseuds/druxykexy
Summary: After Oswald finds Fish on the stolen Arkham bus instead of Professor Strange, their confrontation is interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Jim Gordon. Things take a darker turn.
  “What do you want, Fish?” Oswald asked, trying to sound calm. “What are you planning to do?”
  “Oh, I’m not going to do anything to you, little Penguin,” Fish said in a tone that was far too sweet to be reassuring. “It’s what he’s going to do to you.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to [RowanBaines](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanBaines) for beta reading this! And to [thekeyholder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/pseuds/thekeyholder) for insisting that the world needs more Gobblepot when I mentioned being too scared to post this XD
> 
> Quick disclaimer: I very much enjoyed the scenes between Fish and Oswald in episodes 2x22 and 3x2. Her actions were unexpected, and I felt they added a lot to the story. In the past however, there have been times where Fish was an absolutely chilling and ruthless villain. I find that side of her fascinating, so I got inspired to write a “what might have happened if…” story.

 

Fish shouldn’t be alive— _couldn’t_ be alive. Oswald had made sure of that.

And yet there she was, standing beside the bus that was only supposed to contain Professor Strange.

It was supposed to be Oswald’s moment of revenge, not…not _this_.

It was as if there were some rule, some universal law, that whenever Oswald had even the slightest modicum of success, whenever it was _his_ turn to take a bite, the fruit would always turn out to be rotten beneath the skin. _Always_.

But not Fish, no, the law didn’t apply to her. The universe just handed her what she wanted. And from the way her mismatched eyes glittered, the way her lip twisted upwards into something that made Oswald’s heart hammer in his chest, he would say that what she wanted was _him_.

He wouldn’t win in a fight. He wasn’t even armed. That’s what Butch was for—only it was unthinkable that Butch would intervene to protect him, not if it meant choosing Oswald over her.

“Stop!” a familiar voice called out. “Put your hands in the air!”

Oswald felt a jolt as recognition struck. _Jim_. Then there was hope that—

Or maybe not. Jim might have no intention of helping him at all. He’d become entirely unpredictable as of late.

Still, Jim’s arrival would buy him some time. Give him some room to maneuver.

“Interesting,” Fish said, yanking Oswald’s attention back to her. “I wouldn’t have expected that from you. Although, maybe I should have.”

“What are you talking about?” he said.

Her smile widened, became predatory. “I’m going to grant your wish.”

He had no idea what she meant, but that didn’t stop his stomach from sinking. Fish had a talent for being cruel, for finding exactly the best way to reach into the hearts of her targets so that she could rip them out. He didn’t know what clue he could have possibly given her just then, but it didn’t matter. She knew him. She would find her mark.

“I mean it, Mooney! Hands up or I’ll shoot!” Jim shouted, closer this time.

Oswald glanced back at Butch and his crew, but they had already begun to back away. Butch’s expression was strangely unsettled, as if Fish’s reemergence from death was disturbing to him as well. Now, that was an unexpected development—although maybe it shouldn’t have been. Butch had always been uneasy around things that hinted at the supernatural.

Without Butch’s men to back Fish up, Jim would have the upper hand. Oswald felt a rush of relief.

“Of course, officer,” Fish said calmly, either unaware or uncaring of Jim’s change in status.

“Put your hands on your head,” Jim ordered as he approached, ignoring Oswald for the moment. Which was good, it meant he only considered Fish his enemy. At least for now.

Fish did as Jim instructed, but kept her eyes on Oswald. Her expression was unnerving. She didn’t look like someone who had lost, someone who was about to get arrested—instead she looked like someone who was getting exactly what she wanted.

As Jim went to cuff her, Oswald opened his mouth to warn that something wasn’t right, only to see her move, lightening quick, and grab Jim’s hand. There was a faint flash of light where their skin touched.

“Don’t move,” Fish said.

Oswald waited for Jim to seize her, to finish cuffing her, to do _anything_. But Jim didn’t. He remained still, looking at her silently.

Something was very wrong.

“Now that’s much better,” Fish cooed.

Oswald glanced in the direction Butch had gone, the urge to make a departure of his own strong. Only he knew Fish wouldn’t just let him go, not until she was done with him, and outrunning her would be an impossibility.

And then there was Jim, who was still standing there as if frozen, cuffs dangling from one hand and his gun in the other. Fish had clearly done something to him, and Oswald didn’t want to leave him like that, especially not when he didn’t know what she intended to do with him.

Not that Jim deserved his loyalty. But, well.

“What do you want, Fish?” Oswald asked, trying to sound calm, or at least un-panicked, and likely failing on both counts. “What are you planning to do?”

“Oh, I’m not going to do anything to you, little Penguin,” she said in a tone that was far too sweet to be reassuring. “It’s what _he’s_ going to do to you.”

Oswald sucked in his breath, not liking the sound of that at all. Her words suggested that she didn’t just have the power to paralyze Jim, but to control him, and that would make Oswald’s predicament significantly more dire. Jim had been ordered to kill him once, and in Fish’s mind it would make perfect, poetic sense to have him finish the job.

He didn’t know how something like that could even be possible, unless perhaps whatever had brought her back to life had also changed her somehow, like Galavan. But from the cool look in her eyes, it was clear that she believed she could anyhow, and Oswald was inclined to trust that above anything else.

“Don’t do this,” Oswald pleaded. It would be so much worse now than it had been back then, now that he knew Jim as he did. That his last view would be—his last moment…

She ignored him, instead caressing Jim’s cheek and creating another glimmer of light.

“You’re going to fuck Oswald Cobblepot,” Fish said to Jim, her voice soft, like a lover’s. “Nothing will stop this, nothing will get in your way.”

Oswald gasped. Jim, on the other hand, barely reacted at all, even though he must have heard what Fish had said. There should have been outrage, and more than likely disgust, but instead Jim looked perfectly calm, as if he’d just been told the weather.

“As if Mr. Gordon could be bent to your will,” Oswald argued, although he noticed with dismay that Jim was moving towards him now, although slowly, and that combined with his continued silence was making him uneasy.

“Oh, you’ll find Detective Gordon can be very agreeable.” Fish gave him a slow smile, one that spoke of a long-sought victory, and Oswald found himself transfixed, unable to look away from it. “When you’re done getting what you deserve, maybe I’ll come back to finish you. Maybe I won’t.”

Oswald opened his mouth to say something, to argue or to beg, he wasn’t even sure, only to be interrupted when Jim wrapped his arms around him and _kissed_ him.

Oswald couldn’t move, couldn’t even think, his shock was too great. One moment he was negotiating for his life, and the next there was Jim, warm and solid, smelling vaguely of leather and some sort of chemical, but beneath that there was the scent that was uniquely him. Something he’d caught in snatches and always wanted to know more of.

The kiss, however, was rougher than he’d imagined. The stubble on Jim’s cheeks was coarse and his lips were slightly chapped, but it was still Jim, and it was real, and it was—

Oswald shoved him away. “What are you _doing_?” he demanded, breathless.

Jim gave him a winsome smile that Oswald hadn’t even realized he was capable of. And for a moment that drove every other thought from his mind even more effectively than the kiss had, because _oh_ how he had wanted Jim to look at him like that for so long. He’d seen glimpses of Jim’s affection for Barbara, and later Lee, but this time it was for _him_.

But then Jim’s next words brought reality crashing down.

“I’m going to fuck you.”

“What?” Frantically he searched Jim’s face for some sign this was a ruse, a trick to gain the upper hand on Fish, but he found nothing. “You can’t be serious.”

Jim’s grip on him was strong, and he tried to pull him in for another kiss, but somehow Oswald managed to twist around enough to look over his shoulder at Fish.

“What have you done to him?”

“Only gave him a little nudge.” For the first time the coolness in her expression gave way to something else, something harder. Clearly the memory of when he’d pushed her from the rooftop hadn’t faded. “And now he’s going to humble you like the bitch you are.”

“You can’t do this to me—to him, to—” his words were muffled when Jim recaptured his lips, until he could break away again. “Fish! Stop this!”

“You haven’t even realized the worst part.” She paused, as if giving him a chance to guess, before she continued. “That afterwards he’s going to hate you for this. That the memory of _violating_ you will be one that will haunt him.”

Her words sent a cold shock through him. It was only too easy to see how that could be true. Not only would he be raped by the one man he—by _Jim_ , but the act would cause equal harm to them both. Because he had no doubt that Jim would be so repulsed by the memory of what he’d been forced to do, that he’d never be able to look at Oswald again without a sense of absolute revulsion.

Not to mention that all the enthusiasm Jim was putting into this, the way that he was pushing his leg in between Oswald’s thighs and lowering his head to bite at his throat, was only going to make that feeling of regret all the worse.

It would most certainly ruin any chance they’d ever had of reconciling their friendship.

“Don’t you dare do this, Fish!” Oswald yelled after her as she began to walk away, apparently having no interest in staying to watch. “I’m warning you!”

She didn’t even spare him a glance.

For a moment Oswald wished Butch hadn’t left, surely even he would have intervened in something like this.

But no, what could Butch have done? Being rescued wouldn’t be worth a bullet through Jim’s head, and even if Jim hated him, even if Oswald got hurt because of it, he didn’t want Jim dead.

“I’m going to bend you over the hood of the cruiser,” Jim said, his breath hot against Oswald’s ear, sending prickles along his skin. “Hold you down and make your gasps fog up the black paint.”

“H-here?” Oswald asked, scandalized as his mind supplied images of exactly what Jim was promising to do to him.

“Right here.” Jim took his wrist and started to tug Oswald towards the car. “Right now.”

“No, stop.”

But Jim wasn’t stopping. Panic rose in Oswald. This couldn’t happen, not like this, and definitely not right here in the middle of the street where god knows who could show up and see.

With a sharp twist, Oswald yanked his arm out of Jim’s grasp.

Jim looked at him, a slight crease in his brow, before he tried to recapture his wrist, but Oswald stayed just out of reach.

“Jim, wait. We need to talk about this,” Oswald continued quickly. “We need to find a way to break the hold Fish has over your mind.”

Jim’s expression darkened, but it was more annoyance than anger. He began to stalk towards him, and Oswald raised his hands as if somehow that would ward him off.

“Jim, don’t—” Oswald’s words were cut off with a squawk as he was seized around the waist and hoisted over Jim’s shoulder. “Put me down!”

Jim ignored him, trudging toward the car with renewed determination.

Oswald was too afraid to struggle lest he end up getting dropped onto the pavement. The upside-down position was bad enough, already making him dizzy, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the twisting view. None of that stopped him from shouting Jim’s name or pleading with him to stop, however.

He needed a different strategy. Jim was stronger and faster than him. He wasn’t going to be able to get away unless he resorted to lethal force, and he wasn’t willing to do that. Fish’s mind control meant that Jim couldn’t be talked out of it either. But perhaps if Oswald could find a way to get more time. It might be possible to stall Jim…

It was worth a try.

When they arrived at the car—the same one Oswald had already had the distinctly unpleasant experience of being forced into the trunk and driven to his death in—Jim finally sat Oswald back on his feet. But before he could even regain his balance, Jim spun him around and pushed him down over the hood of the car. Oswald could feel the heat from the engine where it hadn’t completely cooled, and true to Jim’s word, his breath made clouds on the dark surface.

He tried to stand back up, only to find he was being held down. Jim’s grip wasn’t rough, but it was unyielding. It was obvious Oswald wouldn’t be going anywhere until Jim wanted him to.

Jim shoved Oswald’s jacket out of the way, and then reached for the waist of his pants.

“Kiss me!” Oswald blurted.

Jim’s hands stilled. But he didn’t let him up.

Oswald would have to do better.

“Please kiss me.” He hoped the panic in his voice would pass for urgency. “I want to feel your mouth on mine.”

Jim pulled him to his feet, steadying him until he had his balance.

“You want to be kissed?” A slow, lazy smile lit up Jim’s features, as if he were pleased by the request.

And while Oswald’s words had mainly been strategic, he found he liked that look. “Yes.”

Jim leaned in to do as he was asked, and this time Oswald kissed back, parting his lips to let Jim in. He told himself it was to make Jim think he was cooperating, so he’d be more likely to listen to his next request, but that didn’t stop him from moaning just a little as Jim’s arms wrapped around him, and as he slid his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You taste so sweet,” Jim murmured. “Can’t get enough of you.”

Oswald warmed at the words. He liked hearing them, liked feeling wanted, even if it wasn’t genuine. Experimentally, he ran his fingers down Jim’s back and was rewarded when Jim groaned against him.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” Oswald said. “There are better, more comfortable places.”

“Here is fine.”

“I would rather—”

Jim made a sound that was almost a growl and pressed their hips together, letting Oswald feel how hard he was for him. “No more talking.”

Oswald’s eyes widened. “Jim, I—”

“Turn around.”

His tone made Oswald shiver, which was ridiculous as far as reactions went. He knew that. But still, there was a part of Oswald that wanted to push just for the thrill of having Jim push back. The rest of him, however, was well aware of how serious the situation was. He had no actual control, and directly resisting Jim was going to end up getting him forcibly _taken_.

“Not here,” Oswald insisted.

Jim’s only response was to turn him around by force.

Oswald braced his hands on the hood as he cast around for anything to say, anything at all.

“I want my first time to be in a bed. In _your_ bed.”

Jim stilled. “First time?”

Oswald felt his face heat over his admission. Not that it had ever been particularly important to him, but it was considered such a status symbol to most men, how many lovers they took to bed, so to admit he’d had none was something he tried not to do.

“Yes, and I want it to be with you.” He realized as he said it that that part wasn’t actually a lie, although the circumstances were most certainly not what he wanted. “But in a bed. So please, take me home with you.”

Jim turned him so their eyes met. “Ok.” He kissed him once, firm and possessive.

Oswald exhaled in relief as Jim opened the passenger door and guided him inside. He got the feeling it was less about chivalry and more about impatience, but Oswald didn’t mind. He was also eager to start the drive. It would keep Jim occupied and give him time to come up with a plan.

It was possible that Fish’s hold on Jim would weaken with time, or perhaps as they got further away. There had to be limits to it. He had to have hope.

He wasn’t familiar with Jim’s new apartment. He considered trying to get Jim to go to the manor instead. Maybe Barbara could be convinced to help. No, she was Jim’s ex and still a bit psychotic when it came to him. She’d be just as likely to kill Oswald regardless of the reason he’d landed in Jim’s sights. Besides, the severed head in the parlor would be hard to explain when Jim came back to his senses.

Maybe he could get Jim to indulge in bedroom games. He knew from hearing them talk, that a number of men had only been too happy to let Fish tie them up. Maybe he could convince Jim to let him handcuff him to the bedframe, and that would give him time to find a cure.

But somehow, he had the sense that if he got such things involved with Jim, that it would be much more likely that Oswald was the one who would get tied up, and then where would he be?

He was interrupted from his thoughts as he felt the vehicle slow and then stop. Oswald looked up to see that Jim had parked the car and he felt his stomach flip. They’d arrived.

Oswald hadn’t come up with a plan at all and now he was out of time. He wasn’t usually so bad at this. He’d gotten out of much worse situations with considerably less to work with.

Jim helped him out of the car and pulled him against him, taking a moment to run his hands all over Oswald’s body and kiss him breathless.

“There are so many things I want to do to you,” Jim whispered, his words a low rumble against Oswald’s ear.

“Yes,” Oswald heard himself whisper back, only to redden at his own response. He cleared his throat, hoping to make his voice sound less breathy. “Ok, but, um, let’s go inside.”

Jim nodded, linking hands with Oswald to lead him into the apartment hallway.

It wasn’t nearly as nice as where Jim had lived before, but Oswald supposed that had been Barbara’s money paying for that.

Jim only let go of him to unlock the door and usher him inside.

“You know that Fish is making you do this?” Oswald said, again trying reason even though it hadn’t worked before. “You wouldn’t actually want to be here with me if she hadn’t done whatever she did to control you.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Jim took his jacket off and slung it over the back of the couch.

“She’s changed. Something happened to her and it’s dangerous. Doing this could be dangerous for you.”

“Me wanting you has nothing to do with whatever they did to her at Arkham.”

Just hearing the word was enough to bring a chill down Oswald’s spine.

Jim paused, shirt half unbuttoned, and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” That was the last topic Oswald wanted to talk about on top of what he was currently dealing with.

But ever the detective, Jim wasn’t going to let it go. “No, it was something I said…” Oswald watched as understanding spread across Jim’s face. “Arkham?”

“Well, it was such a _lovely_ place.”

Jim returned to undoing his buttons, but his body language seemed different now, almost subdued. “Yeah, I saw what it was like in there.”

Oswald didn’t respond, simply watched as Jim tossed the shirt on top of his coat, and hoped he’d drop the subject. This was definitely a subject they would need to talk about, but not while Jim wasn’t himself.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” Jim said.

Oswald looked up, caught off guard by the sudden apology. “You had no reason to doubt me. I was always loyal to you, I was—”

“I didn’t _want_ to believe you.”

Oswald’s heart seized at the admission.

“But I should have.” Jim hesitated for a moment before he continued. “I was wrong.”

Looking at Jim in the dim light, standing in his undershirt and offering the apology Oswald had longed for, for so long…

It was stupid, it was _so very_ foolish of him, and he knew he was going to get hurt in the future, but he couldn’t help what he felt now.

“It’s alright.” Oswald gave him a solemn tilt of his head. “I forgive you.”

Jim smiled, and it looked so bright and genuine that it was almost easy for Oswald to forget the reasons for his hesitation. Almost.

“I’ll make it up to you somehow,” Jim said as if he could sense the last of his misgivings. He drew Oswald into his arms to kiss him tenderly this time, only breaking after a moment to nuzzle affectionately against his hair. “I don’t approve of what you do, but I admire your perseverance. And your loyalty.”

The half-praise was the best he’d ever gotten from Jim, and while he probably really shouldn’t have, he couldn’t help it, he melted. He returned his kisses with enthusiasm, and only vaguely took note that Jim was walking him backwards, into the dimly lit sleeping area. It wasn’t until his knees hit the bed causing him to topple onto it, that he remembered that he was supposed to be stopping this.

“Wait,” he said as Jim climbed on top of him.

“Been doing that too long already.”

“You don’t want this. Fish made you, and—” He was cut off as Jim took his lower lip in his mouth and sucked. He moaned, but then remembered himself and pulled away. “If we do this, you’ll _hate_ me.”

Jim huffed as if that thought was somehow absurd, and proceeded to unbutton Oswald’s shirt.

“I’m serious. You’ll never forgive me if I let you go to bed with me while you’re under some sort of spell. And I couldn’t stand that, I couldn’t—”

“I promise not to hate you for this.”

“But—”

“I won’t blame you. I won’t think less of you.” Jim gave him a _stupidly_ cocky smile, the one that somehow worked all too well on him. “Now, does that cover all the bases?”

Oswald was fairly certain it wouldn't once Jim was in his right mind again, but he was just as sure that he was already losing this battle.

“There’s nothing I can say to stop you, is there?”

“Nothing will stop this,” Jim said, repeating Fish’s words.

“Please forgive me,” Oswald said, more to the ceiling than Jim. Had he been a religious man, it would have been a prayer.

“Stop worrying so much.” Jim pressed the side of his face against Oswald’s for a moment. “I want this to be good for you.”

Oswald sighed, enjoying the comfort of the gesture even though he knew it was wrong. Nor did he resist when Jim peeled his shirt off and flung it on the floor.

Oswald’s shoes and socks soon followed, and as Jim moved onto his pants, Oswald was grateful that the semi-darkness would hide his frailty and his scars. Not that any of that seemed to matter to Jim at the moment, but when Jim thought back on this, hopefully the memory would seem less offensive if he never quite saw what Oswald looked like.

Jim kicked his own shoes and pants off, but left his undershirt and boxers on. He stretched out beside Oswald and stroked his fingers down his throat, down his chest. His movements had become more sensual, more deliberate, as if the overwhelming urgency from before had eased somewhat now that he finally had Oswald naked and in bed with him.

“Let me know if anything is too much,” Jim said. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

Oswald appreciated that. He was aware that sex could be painful, especially the first time, and the attention to his state of mind was reassuring. Really, this could have been so much worse if Fish had chosen someone else. Someone who didn’t care if they hurt him or not—or possibly would even enjoy doing so.

Jim’s touches were non-demanding at first, but then they gradually increased in intensity. To Oswald’s surprise, it wasn’t long before he was every bit as hard as Jim was, and he found himself pressing into Jim’s hands, craving even more contact.

Jim rolled until he was half on top of him, sliding a leg over Oswald’s thighs.

Oswald ran his hand down Jim’s bicep, fighting the urge to pull Jim the rest of the way on top of him.

Jim slid his hand down to stroke Oswald’s cock.

Oswald turned to bury his face in Jim’s neck because he was losing control over his expressions. Because that, _that_ was so much better than when he touched himself.

Jim didn’t tease him for his reaction, but kept up the careful ministrations until Oswald was writhing beneath him, panting for release. He was making all sorts of sounds now, soft moans and more than one whispered _Jim._

But just when Oswald thought he was going to lose his mind to the sensations, Jim suddenly let go of him, moving away.

Oswald whined at the sudden abandonment, barely registering the sound of the nightstand opening as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

Jim had stopped to stand beside the bed, and Oswald’s breath caught as he watched Jim tugged his undershirt off to toss it aside, his boxers following soon after.

His broad shoulders and defined muscles attested to his strength, his vitality. He was magnificent in a way that Oswald would never be. But none of that mattered, because in this one moment, Jim was _his_.

“You look so good like that,” Jim said, startling Oswald from his thoughts.

“I don’t…” Oswald let the denial die on his lips, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that Jim was so far out of his league that it took mind control to make this moment even conceivable.

“You look perfect,” he finished instead.

Jim smiled, and it was surprisingly roguish, as if Oswald’s praise marked some sort of a victory, or perhaps an opportunity, but before he could give it any more thought, Jim was lowering himself on top of him.

Jim kissed him passionately, deeply, as if he wanted to taste every part of him, and it was intoxicating, being the focus of so much attention, so much desire. And when Jim began to move his mouth lower, when he began to gently bite and suck at Oswald’s throat, Oswald found himself humming in appreciation.

But it occurred to Oswald that Jim was doing all the work, while he was doing little more than lying on his back and accepting whatever Jim wanted to give.

Deciding to return the favor of what Jim had done for him, Oswald reached down between them and took Jim’s cock into his hand.

Jim let out a small gasp, his mouth parting against Oswald’s throat, and Oswald decided to take that as an encouraging sign, particularly since Jim made no move to stop him. Slowly he began to stroke him like he would himself. Absently he wondered what it would be like to go down on him. At this moment, the idea wasn’t unappealing at all.

But before he could get up the courage to offer, Jim caught his wrist, stopping him. He planted a kiss at the base of his palm.

“Spread your legs.”

Hesitating only for a second, Oswald did as he was told.

Jim drew one of Oswald’s knees up, and Oswald heard the sound of a bottle cap opening.

“Relax,” Jim said, and then Oswald felt a slick finger slide along the cleft of his ass to press into his opening.

The sensation was unexpected, but not painful, and he did his best to keep from going tense.

Jim was slow and careful as he prepared him, as if it were very important that it didn’t hurt, and that’s what made it so strange. Not that the entire experience wasn’t strange, but that was especially so. No one was ever gentle with him. He might get what he wanted but he always got hurt. That’s just the way it was.

But not Jim. Not even under a spell. It was this kindness in Jim, his consideration of others, that had drawn Oswald to him in the first place.

Oswald would never come back from this. He was lost. For the rest of his life he would be hopelessly in love with one James Gordon.

“You ok?” Jim asked.

“Yes. Very much so.” Oswald tried to keep his voice steady, tried to disguise the purely overwhelming level of affection that was coursing through him.

After only a few short moments. Oswald had completely given into the physical sensations as well, pushing back against Jim’s hand, uncaring of how debauched he must seem.

When Jim withdrew his fingers, Oswald made a small sound of protest.

“Turn over,” Jim said, his voice low and throaty.

So it was time then.

In a mixture of nerves and anticipation, Oswald allowed Jim to guide him onto his knees.

He felt Jim move behind him. Heard the snap as the bottle was opened again. Jim spread his legs open wider and caressed his hip.

“You look good like this too. Waiting for me.”

Oswald dropped his head down onto his arms and did his best to stay relaxed as the blunt tip of Jim’s cock pressed against him. Jim moved slowly, but even so there was pain as it began to push inside, although only a little, and he gasped.

Jim stilled. He stroked his hands down Oswald’s sides, whispering endearments, and Oswald wanted nothing more than to please him, to make it good for _him_.

“You don’t have to wait. It’s fine.”

“Shh.” Jim reached around to take Oswald’s cock into his hand, quickly getting him back to where he was before. Stroking him until Oswald was gasping, shifting around to get more contact, more friction, just _more_.

And only then did Jim continue to push inside, to breach Oswald bit by bit until he was buried deep inside. The sensation was nearly overwhelming, but not painful, and as Jim began to move within him he began to experience another type of pleasure.

It was so intense. Being bent over and spread, feeling the strength and power of Jim as he took pleasure in him. It was to be completely vulnerable, but somehow not unsafe.

Jim shifted his angle then, and the sensation changed, became _better_ , and Oswald was incoherent, babbling nonsense, pleading for more, for release, for something he didn’t even know what. Jim’s hand moved in time with his thrusts, and then Oswald came, his cries muffled by the sheets.

Jim followed moments after, grunting his name and digging the pads of his fingers into Oswald’s hips.

Jim collapsed onto the bed beside him.

Carefully Oswald rolled onto his back. He wanted to wrap his arms around Jim, wanted to prolong the closeness, but he didn’t dare. He imagined the compulsion Fish had placed on Jim would break at any moment.

“Did I hurt you?” Jim asked. His tone completely different. Withdrawn. It was very possible the spell had already broken.

“No, you didn’t,” Oswald answered cautiously.

There was a beat of silence. “Well, there’s that at least.”

Oswald winced. “Jim—”

“I’m not angry.”

That gave Oswald pause. “How could you not be?”

“I’m not angry at _you_.”

Ah. That made more sense. “I tried to come up with a way to stop…” Oswald trailed off, not wanting to say _you_ when it was likely to only inspire guilt. “To stop it from happening, but I ran out of ideas. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You were just as much of a victim as I was.” Jim sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe more so.”

At Jim’s words, Oswald felt some of the tension he was holding begin to ebb away. He’d expected to be blamed for this. Even if not for his inability to stop Jim from bedding him, then for Jim being used in the feud between him and Fish. Or worse—well not worse exactly, but certainly more humiliating—that Jim would object that Oswald had been able to enjoy what they’d done.

“You’re taking this well. I have to say you’ve surprised me.” Realizing that might sound insulting, Oswald quickly added, “Although perhaps I’m being unfair. You’ve always been a good man.”

Of course, being a good man wouldn't preclude Jim telling him to shut up, or to go home, but Jim only grunted, and took a box of tissues from the nightstand, passing several to Oswald before he began to clean himself up.

“I’m glad it was you,” Oswald said, after a moment. “It could have been a lot worse if someone else had responded to the call.” Or if Bullock had been with him. He shuddered at the thought of Fish forcing him to take on both men at once.

“I didn’t respond to the call.”

Oswald frowned in confusion. “Then why were you there?”

“I was headed out of town when I saw the wreck. I recognized the bus, knew who was on it, so I stopped. Against my better judgment.”

“You were leaving?” The very thought caused a tightness in his chest, making it ache.

“I was on my way to see Lee.”

What had been a tightness before twisted into something sharper, something darker, something _unbearable_.

But what could he do about it? He had absolutely nothing to offer him. Well, not anything that Jim would actually want.

“My apologies.” Oswald struggled to sound indifferent, although he didn’t think it was working. “If you need to go, I won’t delay you any further.”

Jim was quiet for a moment, before he said, “I’m not good for her. I wasn’t when she first left, and nothing’s changed.”

“That’s not entirely true.” He felt Jim shift to look at him, and he forced a smile, not sure of how visible it was in the dark. “I mean, you’re quite the catch, Jim Gordon. You should follow your heart.”

“That’s unexpectedly selfless of you.”

Oswald shrugged, glad Jim couldn’t hear his thoughts. He intended to let the matter rest at that, but then somehow he was talking anyway. “If I’m going to suffer a broken heart I can at least do so with dignity.”

Jim snorted. “You. A broken heart.”

Oswald stilled, his treacherous eyes suddenly blurring, but damn it, that had stung.

“Wait.” Jim’s tone had shifted, become more serious and he rolled onto his elbow to face Oswald. “Were you serious?”

Oswald knew he should deny it outright, but the words wouldn’t come.

Jim gently took hold of Oswald’s chin and tilted his face towards him. He ran a thumb over his eyelid, releasing some of the moisture within.

“You were.” The note of amazement in Jim’s voice stung even more than the earlier comment.

“Don’t let it trouble you.” Oswald huffed in exasperation and pulled away to look at the ceiling. When he spoke again it was to the dark. “The heart is a cruel, very cruel, thing.”

“Yeah,” Jim agreed. He was silent for a long moment. “We should try to sleep.”

“What a splendid idea. Then the morning can come and there will be new things to be upset about.”

“Maybe. Probably.” Jim didn’t really sound bothered though.

It was then that what Jim was offering sank in. And it didn’t make sense, Jim couldn’t possibly want him to stay the night.

Carefully, Oswald asked, “Do you want me to move to the couch?”

Jim snorted. “A little late for modesty.”

“I don’t want to intrude. Or overstay my welcome. Of course, I want to stay, but I’m sure you—well, I’m sure—”

His rambling was stopped as Jim put an arm around him and pulled him close.

After a moment of being completely and utterly stunned, Oswald turned his face towards Jim to inhale deeply against his neck, taking comfort in his warmth and scent.

“Are you sure?” Oswald asked, only to instantly regret it because what if Jim said _no_.

“Why not.” Jim patted Oswald’s side. “Besides, this is nice. For now.”

“Yes, of course.” It was nice. Very, very nice. And if he had anything to do with it, _now_ was going to continue being this nice for the rest of their lives.

“Go to sleep, Oswald,” Jim said as if he could hear his thoughts.

“Goodnight, Jim.” Oswald smiled, content to do just that. Although before he could drift off, it occurred to him that just this once, Fish’s plan had backfired just as badly as any of his ever did.

He could only imagine the look on her face when she found out. It would be a very satisfying form of vengeance indeed.

 

 

 


End file.
